


on laughter-silvered wings

by jaqhad (kyrilu)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Poe Dameron (Comics)
Genre: Character Study, Family, Friendship, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22683643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/jaqhad
Summary: Poe Dameron just wants to go fast.
Relationships: Poe Dameron & Black Squadron, Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 13
Kudos: 59





	on laughter-silvered wings

**Author's Note:**

> lols, I’ve written and rewritten this story like three times until I figured out what ~theme~ I was going for. I feel like I’m just waiting for the new Poe novel to come out and fill in the blanks for backstory stuff. I am going to be jossed, but let me get this out there first!

**i.**

He’s six, and he’s on his mother’s lap, weaving her A-wing across the stars. He’s seven, and he’s watching a sleek blue-yellow-orange-colored racer streaking in front of all the rest. He’s eight, waking up from nightmares without his mother to comfort him, and he takes her ship up to Yavin’s orbit, letting it fall into the arc of it as he sleeps. He’s thirteen, listening to L’ulo’s stories about the old rebellion, and he tries a tricky flight maneuver—looping, rolling, swerving, an Eimalgan Turn that leaves his body stinging from whiplash but he’s _got it_. He’s fifteen, chafing at chores on the ranch, impatient with his dad’s pathfinding trips, because no matter how high you can ascend a mountain, he’d rather be _up there._

Sixteen, he runs away. The stars are waiting, and he knows that they’re his.

**ii.**

At flight academy on Hosnian Prime, he and Suralinda leave the campus grounds to go out for drinks. There’s technically a curfew in place and early morning physical training—but, well, Poe’s too restless to stay in the barracks, so he and Suralinda sneak off on a pair of speeders, zipping off to one of the nearby bars. It’s been years since Kijimi, but Poe still feels like he’s in his element, exchanging patter with the Zabrak bartender, placing a casual bet on the latest racing tournament, and listening to numerous shady characters trade gossip and cut deals.

Suralinda is engaged in a passionate debate with another patron about the Napkin Bombing—it had happened last week, their launch class deemed too fresh for response and recovery work, even though they had tried to dash off the grounds when the news broke out. Their flight instructor Norra Wexley had barred the way to the ships, her arms crossed: “I know you want to help, but you’ve got to leave this to the professionals, kids.”

In the meanwhile, Suralinda gesticulates wildly – “There’s no way that it was some Populist conspiracy, they almost died!” The man she’s arguing with—short, middle-aged, grey-haired—lets out a snort and stalks off, leaving Suralinda scowling.

“I need another drink,” Suralinda declares. “Kark, what an idiot.”

Poe flashes her a rueful grin and signals the bartender. “Can’t win ‘em all, Javos.”

Suralinda glowers over her newly filled glass, tension still simmering in her brown eyes. “It’s frustrating. There are so many false rumors and lies on the HoloNet that people can’t tell up from down. Doesn’t help that Senator Xiono’s an incompetent sleemo.”

Poe’s not as plugged into politics as she is, but he’s aware. Things are changing and not for the better; he closes his eyes for a brief second, thinks of the things he saw on Kijimi, a flutter of dark guilt churning in his stomach. Yet he pushes it aside. “That’s why we’re here,” he says, reminding Suralinda just as much as himself. “Training for the Navy. Once we graduate, we’ll be doing some good out there.”

“We damn well better be,” Suralinda says. “But sometimes I can’t help thinking that there’s _more_ , y’know? Something else I should be doing.”

Poe considers her words. “I think I know the feeling.”

He’s not surprised when she eventually resigns her commission to become a reporter, just as she quickly figures out that he’s joined the Resistance.

**iii.**

Poe takes the Z-95 out for a spin above D’Qar, checking and double-checking that he’s familiar with the ship’s controls, its screens, its habits. Even though it’s not as sleekly maneuverable as an X-wing, he can pilot it like anything else. He’s doing his utmost not to remember the way Muran had gone down, focusing instead on practicing flight exercises and talking to BB-8.

Then, a crackle over the comms. “You’re Shara’s boy! I just heard you joined up; I’m coming back from a mission right now. Wanna catch up?”

There’s an X-wing careening below him, striped blue-and-yellow, and Poe starts as it slings ahead of him, more like a whisper bird than a machine, dancing in the darkness of space. Behind the cockpit is an orange astromech, one of the oldest that Poe’s ever seen.

The X-wing charges down towards the base, and Poe lets out a light laugh of surprise, while BB-8 beeps out a question.

“She’s an old family friend,” Poe says, as he accelerates and takes off after her.

The first time he met her, he was on Castilon, watching her race above the sea. His mom had taken him when he was a kid, just like she had taken him to several of Jarek Yeager’s races, her old pilot friends from the war who turned their talents to courses and tournaments—Poe had said, every time, _If you were up there, Ma, you’d beat them all_.

Venisa Doza had sputtered: _Look, kid, I outmaneuvered my fair share of TIEs back in the day, too,_ while a mustached man beside her murmured, _Yes, you did._

It looked like she was still outflying TIE fighters these days, too, Poe thinks, and for not the first time, he feels a twinge of sadness, remembering what his dad said about hoping the war wasn’t all for nothing. Nevertheless, it’s a real relief, knowing that pilots like her are here on their side.

She’s smiling at him as he exits the Z-95. “Poe Dameron. You’ve grown so big! It seems like just yesterday when Jarek was telling me that you had run away from home to become a racer—”

Poe winces. “That was a long time ago. I was a dumb kid.”

And it really, really didn’t turn out the way he wanted. Lose a race, piss off the wrong person, and sixteen-year-old nerko Poe Dameron is driven to smuggling for criminals on a karking winter planet regretting all his life choices.

“I bet,” Venisa says, with an amused shake of her head. “It looks like you turned out just fine, though. Our next generation of pilots—I think you’ve all got something special.” Her eyes are wistful, proud, not quite looking at him, and it takes Poe a second to remember Yeager mentioning that Venisa has a daughter. She’d be about half his age by now.

He sighs and offers her a hesitant grin. “You won the All Aces Battle Royale, didn’t you? I was going to enter, before… things got complicated. What else have I missed? How’s it like in the Resistance?”

She tells him, her helmet in her lap, her graying black hair sweeping behind her.

**iv.**

Like Poe’s dad and like L’ulo, Venisa Doza also has war stories to tell. She says: “You never know who you’re gonna give your heart to. One day you’re minding your own business trying to plan the best way to escape a Star Destroyer. And then there he is--”

A stormtrooper takes off his helmet and asks Poe if he can fly a TIE fighter.

There he is.

**v.**

Resistance intelligence operatives are fitted with a poison tooth. Instant death activated by crushing a capsule once captured by the enemy. Poe is a pilot, not a spy, so he isn’t given one. But on the _Finalizer_ , under Kylo Ren’s gaze, the back of his mouth aches, the phantom pain of what he could have done. He still tastes it after he wakes up from nightmares.

After the _Raddus_ , after the loss of the fleet, he wonders how differently things would have gone if he had the chance to bite.

Rebellion is in his blood and always will be, for better or for worse. Just as he swoops in to save the day, blasting the bad guys—there’s a part of him that will be reckless, feckless, _stupid_ —the sixteen-year-old boy who claimed the stars as his own, forgoing summer skies, humid rains, verdant greenery, the only home he’s known and the only family he has left.

He came back, though; he came back, his father sweeping him into his arms, his fingers curling into the chain on Poe’s neck from which his mother’s ring hangs: _my son, my son_. It feels like that again, when he tells Jess, Snap, Karé, and Suralinda about the _Raddus_ , and they don’t look at him with blame or hatred.

He’s going to do better. He tells himself that, over and over, even as the imagined tang of affide invades his mouth.

**vi.**

The great thing about insomnia is that in the Resistance, you’ve never alone. For Poe, Tah’Nuhna resurrects some uncomfortable memories of Kijimi – the biting cold, the snow, the swirling dark sky at night.

Objectively, he knows that the Tah’Nuhnans are generous, offering temporary refuge and aid to the Resistance – but there are some associations that Poe can’t shake as he looks outside the emerald palace’s transparisteel windows.

So, he’s awake, making his way to the hangar where they’ve docked their ships. Maybe he can make himself useful and do repairs on the ships that Dross Squadron brought back from Bracca. Besides Rose Tico and a handful of others, the Resistance is short on mechanics, and Poe doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty.

But he’s not alone in the hangar. Jess is already there, hard at work modifying her own X-wing yet again. Her long black hair is pulled back to keep out of her eyes, her mouth curved into a serious line, hydrospanner in hand.

“Bad dreams again?” he says.

She nearly drops her hydrospanner, then relaxes when she sees him. “Maybe,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “I just feel like I need to keep fixing. Working.”

Poe nods. “It’s no use doing this on an empty stomach. You want me to grab a midnight snack or something? Something to drink?”

Jess looks like she wants to object, but after a pause, doesn’t. “Something to drink would be nice. Not caf, because I’m gonna try to knock out after a couple of hours. Just whatever you can find.”

Poe ducks into the _Millennium Falcon—_ currently empty, since Rey, Finn, Rose, Chewbacca, and General Organa are sleeping in the palace rooms—and finds a box of tea. He brews a pot of it in the _Falcon_ ; he’s not a tea person at all, but at least he’s occupied for now, emerging from the _Falcon_ with two steaming cups.

“I hope Gatalentan tea’s alright,” Poe says, handing it to Jess.

“It’s fine,” she says. She puts down her hydrospanner, and brings the cup to her face, breathing in its sharp fragrant scent. “Thanks.”

Poe takes an experimental sip of it himself. It’s not bad, but it could use some sugar.

The both of them are sitting with their backs to Jess’ X-wing, drinking in silence. Eventually, Poe asks, idle small talk, “Ever been to Gatalenta?”

“Nope,” she says. “Their tea’s pretty good, but it’s not my kind of place. Not exactly the meditative retreat type of gal. Not like I could have when I was younger, they outlaw—” She stops, her face pale.

 _Oh pfassk_ , Poe thinks. He hadn’t known.

“Vice Admiral Holdo was from Gatalenta,” he says, quickly.

Jess barks out a short laugh. “I didn’t know that. She didn’t sound like a tranquil meditator at all. So, we’re making this about your issues now, good save.”

“I don’t know what to say, Pava,” he says, running his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“Why are you apologizing?” she says, shaking her head. “It’s in the past.”

“I used to run spice,” Poe says, and he’s surprised that he says it out loud, and she does, too, jolting. “I – I was in some deep bantha shit when I was a runaway kid, and I did some things I’m not proud of. Criminal underworld stuff that supported and enabled bad people, evil institutions. It’s just… another mark on my record.” That and the _Raddus_.

Jess’ eyes are wide. “Holy shit, Poe. And you were still able to get into flight school and fly for the Navy?”

“Er. Wedge Antilles and Norra Wexley vouched for me, since they knew my mom.”

Jess snorts. “Wow, it’s almost a good thing that the New Republic got vaporized. That’s some lovely nepotism. I can almost imagine the headlines if Suralinda knew.”

“You know that I’ve got the pilot skills to back it up,” Poe says, sighing. “And like I said, I’m not proud. You’re right, though, I shouldn’t be making this about my issues. Whatever happened to you, it’s ugly, inhumane. It shouldn’t have happened, any of it.”

“Stop,” Jess says. “We’ve had this conversation already, didn’t we? Everyone grandly stepping forward and admitting their pasts and mistakes—though not all of it, granted—but promising to move on. I’m _not_ in the mood to hear your groveling, Poe. And I’m not here to make you feel better, either. As long as you’re still here… fighting for freedom like me, like everyone else… that’s what counts. That’s what matters.”

Poe’s shoulders sag, and he puts down his cup of tea. “You’re right. We just gotta keep flying.”

He thinks of the way she says _freedom._ Sometimes this war seems intangible, starship battles in space, fleet against fleet—elaborate strategies and hunting for a significant map or legendary person—but he knows, he remembers, it comes down to this.

This is what the war is about: protecting innocent people from getting hurt. So kids don’t grow up with the kind of pain that he sees in Jess’ eyes, Finn’s eyes, Rose’s eyes. So parents like Venisa Doza can go back home to their families, flying across blue skies over blue seas. So planets and systems persevere and flourish—he thinks of his time spent on Hosnian Prime, exploring the city with fellow flight school trainees, taking dates to the hanging gardens, grabbing lunch at a diner with Wedge and Norra while they tell him stories of his mom—he thinks of the dead planet, dead system, that he and Kazuda Xiono had discovered before the Hosnian cataclysm, clearly a forewarning for things to come, and they still weren’t able to stop it.

This is what they’re fighting for. A chance for peace.

**vii.**

“I have something to show you,” Vi Moradi says, after she gets a message on her commlink. “C’mon.” She jerks her head—they’re at the Resistance base on Batuu, celebrating their recent victory against the First Order—and before Poe can ask her what she’s talking about, she darts outside the caverns and heads into the woods.

Poe wonders what all the rush is about. He hopes that doesn’t mean that the First Order is causing more trouble. As he hurries after her, Finn joins him, too. “What’s going on?”

“Have no idea, buddy,” Poe says, BB-8 rolling at his heels. “She just told me to follow her.”

Eventually, they arrive at the outpost. Poe wipes the sweat from his brow, slowing down in the shadow of the namesake black spires. Batuu’s two moons are shining bright in the sky, nearly full and waxing, and Vi is standing by a little green tree illuminated by the light.

And the tree’s on _fire._

Parts of it, anyway. It’s crackling, segments of branches alit, aflame, as if someone has set glowing red stars against the tree and made them burst. In the face of conflagration, Vi doesn’t look panicked, and neither does the crowd around her; the townspeople are _ooh_ ing and _ahh_ ing as if it’s some kind of show.

In fact, Vi’s smiling.

“What is that thing?” Finn says. “Are you sure we don’t need to douse it with water?”

“It does that,” Vi says, setting her hand on his shoulders. “It’ll go out eventually.”

Poe stares at the tree, processing the strange sight. He’s heard of stories of Batuu before, from Zorii and other smuggling acquaintances who have stopped on the planet before. This tree, it’s famous.

“It’s the Trilon wishing tree,” Poe says. “You’re supposed to tie a ribbon or string around a branch, and when it catches fire, it means that your wish came true.”

“All those ribbons,” Vi says, “their wish came true.”

Poe says, “You mean—”

“Yeah,” she says, with a laugh. “They all wished for Batuu to be free of the First Order. And look at it now.”

Poe returns her grin. They _had_ done it, after all. The streets are clear of the oppressive stormtrooper forces. The Resistance had converged on the star destroyer and brought it down, Poe flying in his new X-wing and leading a veritable army behind him. Their new recruits had been anxious to show off, and they’d been pointed in a direction like a scalpel.

_Fall._

And it had, sending Kylo Ren and General Hux themselves on the run.

“I’ve never heard of a tree like this before,” Finn says. “It’s pretty cool. You think when we win the war, the whole tree’s going to burn?”

When, not if. Poe feels something warm in his chest. “I dunno, buddy. I’m pretty sure after all these years, there’s bound to be some tough wishes that’s more than about the war. Kids wishing for pet krayt dragons or meeting their favorite grav-ball player.”

But it’s amazing. Even though this is only one planet, even though this is only one town, there are people wishing, praying, hoping.

It’s the backlash against the First Order’s cruelty represented in pyrotechnic form. It’s a testament to the Resistance presence that Vi had managed to build up—farm kids who fearlessly wielded blasters while riding atop crankbikes; a small Chandra-Fan who had done quality slicing work that aided Finn’s infiltration team; a cocky purple-haired ex-smuggler who uncomfortably reminds Poe of his younger self; scavengers led by a quiet woman who’d given Rey a respectful nod.

This is no longer about being barricaded in a cave on Crait, desperate and scrambling, sending out a message that no one responded to.

They’re not alone. Here, and across the galaxy, there are sparks.

Poe begins to reach for Finn’s hand, but he remembers himself and pulls back. Then, he notices that Finn is looking at him, surprised, as their hands brush for a single second.

**viii.**

One year after the Battle of Exegol brings Poe and Finn to a house on Akiva. It reminds Poe of Yavin with its penchant for humid heat and drizzling rain, but for now, the skies are mostly clear, with only a lingering pall of morning mist.

Beside Norra Wexley and Wedge Antilles, Finn is chuckling; it sounds like they’re telling him about Poe’s days at flight academy. Poe wonders if he should be concerned—he’ll have to ask Finn later—for now, he shakes his head and smiles at the baby that Karé is nursing.

Karé says: “Mister Bones, can you bring in a keedee for dinner? With the head on this time, please.” 

“ROGER-ROGER.”

Poe watches incredulously as the B1 droid walks by, mechanic joints clinking with every step. “Do you really have an old Clone Wars droid as your butler?”

“Yep,” Karé says. “I couldn’t believe it, either, but… he’s pretty good with Miré,” hearing her name, the child in her arms blinks her dark eyes, “and he’s good help in the garden. Kazuda Xiono and Neeku—his Nikto friend—showed up on our doorstep with him.”

“Kaz?” Poe says. “What’s he done now?”

He had last seen Kaz after the final battle, the _Colossus_ touching down on Ajan Kloss. Poe had also met Torra Doza for the first time as she celebrated with her mother and father; Poe had complimented her racer, which his teenage self would’ve been sorely envious of. Last Poe had heard of Kaz, however, was that he’d decided to stay on Castilon as one of its Aces.

Karé laughs. “Kaz was on his way to meet up with his family, but Neeku insisted on a detour. Turns out, Snap was chatting with Neeku over holomail. You remember that time Snap picked up the Dantooine recruits on the _Colossus_? He saw Neeku and this B1 droid he was fixing up, and they both nerded out over it. After Neeku heard about—y’know—he decided to install a certain personality template that Snap had sent him, though he did end up cranking down the aggression circuits after some mishaps on the _Colossus_.”

“And you decided to take him in.” 

"It was relatively normal compared to the weird cast of characters who have been showing up lately. Snap's old Imperial bounty hunting friends - there was this guy who drank all of Wedge's stash of Corellian rum. Anyways, Mister Bones is practically family, according to Norra."

“Is she doing alright?” Poe says, glancing over at the white-haired woman. She looks much older than she had after Exegol, lines on her face, her gait weary.

Poe still remembers, he and Karé walking up to her and Wedge, those old soldiers embracing, and saying, “I’m sorry, I couldn't--” and Norra had said, “Is Temmin…” with a voice soft and small, looking so different from the tough and no-nonsense instructor who had lectured him on his flight techniques.

“I don’t think she’ll ever be,” Karé says, with a sad smile. “But things are getting better. Having family and friends around has helped--I've been putting off visiting home, but I think I'll go next month. My dads and my brother have been dying to meet this one." 

Poe grins at the kid again. He hides his face with his hands, then opens them, and Miré lets out a burbled giggle.

"Are you and him thinking of, one day…?" Karé tilts her head towards Finn. 

Poe follows her gaze and flushes. His mother's ring is hanging from Finn's neck, carried with the same open pride as the lightsaber on his belt. "Stars, no. He's got his hands full with Kel, Eila, and Torbi, even with Rey helping. And I've been busy with the Coalition."

He launches into a brief summary of the past few months. Poe's been working on getting treaties signed and agreements worked out. Sometimes he hates it -- he's no politician --- but he tells himself, _For Leia_ , promising her that this time, there will be peace for good.

And it's worth it in the end, anyway, to come home to the informal academy that Finn and Rey have set up on Chandrila.

Kel and Eila are from Tehar, made orphans by Kylo Ren and the First Order after they massacred their village. Eila's Force-sensitive, a little fey, but a sweet mischievous spirit who constantly keeps them on their toes. Kel is her brother, protective and curious-- in lieu of Force lessons, Poe and Rey take turns teaching him how to fly. It turns out Kaz and the Aces had made quite an impression on him.

As for Torbi, the small dark-haired Force-sensitive girl from Parnassos, she'd been excited to have friends after living in an isolated mining facility for most of her life. Her mother had taken some adjusting to -- at least for Finn, who had murmured, _sparring against her is like fighting Phasma_ \-- but it's nice to have Siv around, a kind but steely presence, as Mika Grey and Beaumont Kim argue about Jedi lore.

Which just makes Rey roll her eyes. _We're not quite Jedi, not really. We're something else._ Finn says: _We're something better._

They're right. Somehow, they all make it work.

As for the rest of Black Squadron, Suralinda has been doing public relations and communications duties for Poe and the other leaders. Jess is flying with the Chandrila Planetary Defense Force.

(And as for Snap, he's here, remember? He's luminous.)

They wrap up the conversation, and looking out at the sky outside, Poe asks, "Wanna race? Hope this domestic stuff hasn't made you rusty." 

"I hope _your_ domestic stuff and boring desk job hasn't made you rusty," Karé retorts. "Let's roll, Dameron."

Soon, they're soaring up in the blue, Karé in her X-wing, Poe in the shuttle that he had flown here with Finn. They're bantering over the comms as they rise toward the atmosphere, durasteel wings sparkling in the golden sun--

Down below, Miré is in Finn's arms as he points up at them, waving her tiny fists at the boundless sky. 


End file.
